


Holidays Alone

by airebellah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Bilbo is So Done, Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Thorin, Pining, Pining Thorin, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Broods, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin is a Softie, Thorin-centric, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Uncle Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was Thorin's first Christmas alone, and he was determined to cook dinner all by himself - no take-out, not tonight. But when his poorly executed plans result in his fire alarm going off, it attracts his cute (albeit incredibly annoyed) neighbour from across the hall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holidays Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I don't celebrate, I couldn't help but write a Christmas-y fic! Hope you enjoy :)

The insistent knocking was almost enough to make Thorin Thrainson snap. The man charged towards his door, slamming it open with a snarl.

…And regretted it immediately, when he saw the cute neighbour he had been harbouring a crush on for an embarrassingly long time.

Thorin had to grip the doorknob even tighter to keep himself from closing the door in the man’s face. This was not the time for cute-guy-across-the-hall to come over – Thorin’s hair was a matted mess, spilling recklessly out of the messy bun he had tied it in. He was covered in splatters of food and ingredients, and he swore he could _feel_ every smudge across his face and in his hair.

Even sans stains, his clothes would have been embarrassingly terrible: he wore old stretched out sweats and a tattered, too-tight T-shirt that read: “My dad is taken, but my uncle is hot & single.”

It was supposedly a gift from his nephews, but he knew his sister Dís was the real mastermind behind it.

As cute-guy-across-the-hall hurriedly pushed past Thorin, letting himself into the man’s apartment without even a word, Thorin remembered why his hands were full of rags.

He had set the fire alarm off, and while the smoke had all but dissipated, the alarm continued to blare.

Cute-guy-across-the-hall ambled around Thorin’s apartment with alarming ease, pulling a chair from the table directly below the fire alarm. Standing on it, he reached towards the alarm, fingers barely brushing it.

Turning towards his gobsmacked host, cute-guy-across-the-hall settled Thorin with a glare. “Perhaps you can hold the chair in place while I fix your alarm?” he said rather tersely.

Alright, cute-and- _angry_ -guy-across-the-hall, Thorin amended silently.

Nevertheless he held the chair in place as the man balanced on the balls of his feet, fiddling with the device.

Even as silence permeated the small apartment, the ringing in Thorin’s ears continued. The man stepped down with a huff, turning to Thorin with crossed arms.

“I have been listening to that racket for almost a bloody _hour_ ,” he hissed.

Thorin tensed immediately, eyes narrowing. “How terrible for you,” he countered, “Having to hear it from _across the hall_ in _another apartment_.”

The neighbour rolled his eyes, pointing upwards. “You do know there’s a reset button, correct?” he asked.

Thorin shuffled awkwardly, the rags in his hands suddenly feeling incredibly heavy.

Perhaps sensing Thorin’s embarrassment, the neighbour’s ire seemed to deflate; suddenly he stuck a hand out as his frown smoothed into an almost smile. “Bilbo,” he introduced belatedly.

Thorin reached out to shake the proffered hand, flushing sheepishly as he quickly dropped the rags. “Thorin,” he said.

Though the name was a little peculiar, it was good to finally put a name to the face – er, person – Thorin had been ogling after for so long.

Instead of leaving or doing anything normal in this rather irregular situation, Bilbo turned to eye Thorin’s counters with a critical eye. Leaning towards a cookie sheet, he gave the pile of charcoal a surreptitious sniff. His hand hovered above, checking the temperature, before picking up one of the small, misshapen black sticks.

“Why, exactly,” Bilbo began slowly, turning back to Thorin with a dubiously raised brow, “Were you planning to have fries for Christmas dinner?”

Thorin’s shoulders hunched defensively. “I didn’t want to be the guy who ordered take-out on Christmas,” he muttered.

Bilbo’s expression softened, and Thorin turned away before the look could become anything close to _pitying_.

“But you’re fine with being the guy who orders take-out every _other_ day of the year,” Bilbo said, more of a statement than a question.

“How did you know that?” Thorin asked, embarrassment quickly forgotten.

It seemed it was Bilbo’s turn to be flustered, the man’s round cheeks quickly filling with red. “W-well!” he exclaimed, stammering as he floundered for an explanation. “I just happen to see a delivery man come to your apartment often, that’s all!”

As the two lapsed into awkward silence, Bilbo started to make his way towards the door. Thorin stood, unsure of what to say or do. All he knew was he did not want Bilbo to leave just yet – this was their first real conversation, as painfully pining glances certainly did not count – and the man did not want to muck everything up so quickly.

“I have a family!” he blurted, just as Bilbo reached the threshold to the hallway.

His neighbour turned around, frowning in bemusement. “That’s, um…” Bilbo trailed off, nose twitching as he considered the strange statement. “Alright?” he finally offered, strained voice revealing his confusion.

“I mean…” Thorin cursed himself silently as he tugged on the loose strands of his hair consciously. “Just so you know.” Looking up at Bilbo, he glanced down again. “I have a family, and I would normally be with them now, I just…couldn’t make it this year.”

“Well…” Bilbo’s cheeks puffed before he let out a loud breath. “Thanks for letting me know,” the man murmured confusedly before walking out and down the hall.

As Thorin closed the door behind him, he thunked his forehead against the unforgiving wood miserably.

“You ass,” he muttered to himself, bemoaning the utter humiliating situation. Not one to wallow in self-pity – no, he would much rather brood at inappropriate times – he pushed off from the door, beginning the arduous task of cleaning his apartment.

It was just as Thorin was about to give up and cave, ordering take-out from any nearby restaurant open for the holidays, that there came another knock on his door.

This time it was short and succinct, much politer than the desperate banging of earlier. Perhaps confused by the timing – he had just been considering take-out when the knocking came – he did not bother to clean himself up before opening the door. Instead he pulled his thick hair out from its messy entrapment, feeling the cool locks spill down his sweaty neck.

And once again, seeing none other than Bilbo on the other side, Thorin wanted nothing more than to slam the door in his neighbour’s face.

Bilbo stood in silence for a moment, lips parting as he took in Thorin’s dishevelled hair. The man scowled, pulling his silver-black locks back into their bun.

“Uh – um,” Bilbo stuttered. “I was – well, you see, I went home and I have this huge dinner prepared. It’s a feast, really. And I’ve been working on it all day – there’s a turkey, of course, will stuffing and cranberry sauce – made from scratch, I’ll have you know.” At that, Bilbo pointed a finger, waving it at Thorin as if the man had offended him somehow. “None of that horrible excuse for sauce that comes out of a _can_. And I’ve got freshly baked rolls, and eggnog, and plenty of roasted veggies – and that’s not even mentioning dessert!”

“Have you come to taunt me?” Thorin cut in, interrupting Bilbo’s rant, slightly worried the man was going to knock himself out if he didn’t take a breath soon.

Bilbo snorted, looking affronted. But as he worried his bottom lip, he looked rather shy. “It’s my first holiday alone, as well,” he admitted softly. “I was wondering if you would care to join me?”

Thorin’s jaw dropped, but he quickly snapped it shut as a grin spread across his face. He smoothed out his ratty shirt self-consciously, remembering with a jolt just what he was wearing. “Perhaps I should…change,” he mumbled, gesturing to his outfit.

Bilbo looked down, eyes squinting slightly as he read out the words printed across Thorin’s torso. He burst into laughter, nose crinkly adorably.

“Good to know I’m not stealing you from anyone,” Bilbo said, giving Thorin a saucy wink before walking back to his own apartment.

Thorin shut his door in a slight daze, only vaguely remembering to lock up as he followed his hopeless crush.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to visit me on tumblr under the same name, always looking to meet new people! :)


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